What They Do Not Understand
by Spoons1899
Summary: . . .maybe it has strengthened into something, a not quite friendship of not quite equals. . .' Yuffie. Vincent. Themselves. Each other. Their relationship.
1. I Do Not Fear You

Chapter 1- "I do not fear you"

It's raining.

The cold drops splatter against the ground, the normally euphonious sound magnified and transformed by the barren landscape to a jumbled crash of noise, as though Mother Nature is conducting several orchestras at once and none of them are playing the same song.

The rain doesn't bother Vincent much as he is currently standing near the mouth of the cave the group has found to take shelter in for the night. The land around Wutai is filled with many monsters, and it is a long walk back to the Tiny Bronco. No one wanted to walk at night, when the worst of the monsters came out. The moment it began to rain, they began to look for shelter, huddling gratefully around a fire the creature, Red XIII, was kind enough to start for them. All except one. Well, two, if Vincent counts himself.

He looks towards the small figure huddled against an entirely different rock, knees drawn up to her chest and arms wrapped firmly around her legs. She is not under any sort of shelter, but she does not give any sign that the rain bothers her either. Besides the slight rise and fall of her shoulders, which he can see only because of his unnaturally superlative vision, she gives no sign that she is even still alive.

_Perhaps it is guilt,_ Vincent thinks to himself. _Perhaps she feels remorse for what she has done, though no harm has come of it. Perhaps she feels she is no longer accepted as part of the group._

Though those feelings resemble some of the dark thoughts he harbors in his own mind, thinking of the young girl feeling them sends an inexplicable prickle of anger down Vincent's spine. He takes a step forward. A few rain drops bounce off his shoe. He hesitates, unsure of what he is doing, or why. Then a voice behind him speaks,

"Vincent?" It is Tifa, sounding hesitant and unsure, as though she doubts he will answer her. He turns, strands of black hair drifting in a stray breeze. "Yes?"

"We've sorted out the rest of the materia." It takes the young martial artist a few tries to meet his eyes. He is sure, in the semi darkness, that they seem to glow. Her hands fiddle nervously with the shiny orbs in her lap. "These are the ones Yuffie was using before-- would you mind bringing them to her?"

It is an interesting request. Vincent can see Tifa's thoughts as clearly as if they were written in front of him. She wishes to check on the ninja, but she doesn't quite have the courage to do it herself. She doesn't want to go out in the rain, even to persuade the girl to come back with her to the fire. She doesn't want to leave her spot next to Cloud, even for a moment. Aeris sits on his other side.

Yet Tifa still wishes for someone to check on their absent companion, and so she asks Vincent. Why? Does she think he will somehow be able to talk to her better than the others? Or that the absent one will talk to him because he never talks? Perhaps it is as simple as the fact that Vincent is also standing all alone, and she doesn't want to bother anyone who actually seems like they want to be in the shelter, by the fire.

A short nod disappears into Vincent's cowl. He moves forward and scoops the materia out of Tifa's lap, tucks it into some obscure pocket in his cloak, then strides out from underneath the rock's shelter into the rain.

The young woman gives no sign that she notices his approach. It is possible that she does not; Vincent's footsteps, normally soft and silent, are definitely muffled by the rain. But he knows she has noticed, even if the turn of her head when he draws close was less of a giveaway.

"Yuffie," he says, voice quiet, though quiet in a way that carries clearly through the rain. He hesitates, wondering what to say next. He's tempted to give her the materia and make his retreat. One look down at her though, and he realizes her sad, huddled form will not allow that.

"Yuffie," he says again, and moves fluidly to a squat, a position that would have looked ungraceful had it been made by anyone else. His form is smooth, his balance good. "You shouldn't sit like this."

"Why not?" In contrast, her voice is muffled as her head rests on her knees. "Is my butt-crack showing or something?" One slim brown hand goes to the back of her sodden shorts, then returns to it's original position encircling her leg. She gives a barely perceptible shrug. "Oh well. Nothing you haven't seen before, I'm sure."

"You shouldn't sit in the rain, Yuffie," Vincent continues, decidedly not looking at her butt at all, and pretending her comment hadn't made him blush behind his buckled collar. He can tell she is trying to sound like her normal self, but there is a miserable sullenness to the tone he hasn't heard before.

"I should sit with the others then?" A half shrug, a sarcastic snort. It is not like her at all. Vincent does not think he likes this new, caustic side. "They don't want me there."

Again, he knows not what to say. A low murmuring of her name seems insignificant, but it gets her to speak again.

"They don't, Vincent, and you know it." She raises her head, fixes him with baleful eyes. "They're still mad at me."

"They are not mad." He does not know what compels him to say this-- he is not normally one for wasting words on pointless assurances-- but as soon as he does he knows it to be true.

"Yes, they are," Yuffie counters, a bit of her old self showing through as her gray eyes flash and her tone turns almost petulant. "I stole their materia. They don't understand why, and that makes them mad--"

"No, Yuffie, that makes them afraid."

She breaks off abruptly at the quiet firmness in his voice. Her eyes lose that hard look and turn soft, large and liquid. It is another side of her he rarely sees, but one he much prefers. She seems younger when she gets angry. This new mood, not only quiet, gives her features a more distinguished look. It shows the woman behind the noisy, outspoken tomboy.

"What do you mean?" Yuffie asks.

"People always fear what they do not understand." The words hurt a little as the come out, because they are also very true. Vincent is for once the person that breaks eye-contact, turning away from those storm-colored eyes to stare out at the storm that dashes about the rocks.

"But I promised I wouldn't steal from them again. And I won't! I only--"

"That is not what they fear." Vincent's cuts her off smoothly. Hearing her voice rise defensively, he is able to turn back then, focussing on her and quelling the demons, real or figurative, that had sprung up in his mind. "They do not fear further theft. They fear _you_."

"Me?" She retreats back into herself, hunching over once more. Vincent is not sure if he is relieved or saddened to lose the gaze of those eyes. Though deep down she knows the answer, she still asks the questions. "Why me?"

He sighs, but tries to suppress it so she will not think it is a sigh of annoyance. Rather it is a sigh of-- sympathy? He knows what it is like to make others afraid. "Because you have shown yourself to be more than they thought. You have shown yourself to posses power they did not consider before. And this frightens them."

She snorts and burrows herself deeper into the embrace of her own arms. However, when she speaks her voice has lost a little of it's dejectedness, and even contains a bit of hope, albeit hope buried beneath a thick layer of scorn. "They'll get over it."

"Yes, they will." Vincent shifted a little. "I don't doubt that you'd be welcome by the fire, now, if you so wished."

Another shrug. Her head stays down. "I'm already wet."

Vincent frowns; he does not like her logic. "Yes, but I told you-- you should not sit out here in the rain."

"You are."

This makes him pause again. It is accusatory, but not belligerently so. "My cloak does not absorb water," he says at last.

"So?" Yuffie looks up, finally. Her gray eyes hold something he is not familiar with seeing. "That's not the reason you're out here instead snuggled up next to the fire with everyone else."

He does not have a response for that. He lapses into habitual silence as he tries to come up with one. Suddenly, he remembers. "Tifa asked me to give you these." Reaching into his cloak, he withdraws the materia. The ninja is looking at him fully now, and has outstretched her legs while he was retrieving the shining orbs. He deposits them in her lap. "Your materia."

Yuffie runs her hands over the small globes, but makes no move to equip them. When she speaks again, she keeps her gaze down. "I didn't steal it out of spite, you know. I had a reason. It wasn't for money of anything like that. Wutai--" She breaks off. Her hands clench on two of the bright materia.

Vincent can see everything that is going through her head even easier than Tifa. He leans forward.

"You do not need to explain," he says softly. Her eyes go to his. They are so similar to the ocean during the rain, he wonders suddenly if he could drown in them. "Not to them, and certainly not to me." An inch closer, and even softer, "I do not fear you."

It is a step away from saying ëI understand you' which is a step away from a whole lot of other things that Vincent is completely unwilling to consider. He will concede only that the young woman sitting in front of him with the large gray eyes and naked doubt is not the same person as the young girl that normally dashes around him with the loud voice and brash comments. This young woman is not his direct opposite, but nearly his similar. A bond exists between them for the moment, however fragile and temporary, a bond of a common understanding.

"You know something, Vincent?" For the first time that night, a genuine smile begins to show on the ninja's face. It isn't as bright or big as her normal grin, but it's mutedness is not unpleasant. Again, she looks older and not at all like the rather annoying young girl Vincent paid scant attention too until she stole all his materia and got herself tied to a mountain by an insane pervert. "I don't fear you either."

Her smile grows at the look of confused surprise on his face that is apparent even with the cowl. In a move that only increases this look, she scoops all the materia up and scoots closer to the bewildered ex-Turk, tucking herself carefully against his side and snatching at his cloak until she gets it more-or-less securely wrapped around herself.

"Wow," she says. "It really doesn't absorb water."

Vincent doesn't say anything. He also makes no move to push her away, though he does not draw her any closer either. He merely lets her curl up to him like a very wet cat seeking comfort after a particularly nasty scare with the neighborhood dog. He spares a brief thought to the others-- wondering if any of them happen to be watching, and if so what they're thinking of this strange occurrence. Then he banishes the thought from his mind. They will not speak their thoughts to him, whatever they are. They are more afraid of him than they are of the small woman tucked under his arm, for much more obvious and legitimate reasons.

And so he sits, ancient demon of scarred past and desolate future, young ninja of tragic beginning and urgent present worming her way closer to him-- in more ways than one-- than anyone had been in a long, long time. They are as two perfectly harmonizing, silent notes that blend into the symphony of water music that plays around them.

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Review, please, if you're so inclined. It's be nice. This'll probably be three parts, maybe four. The next part will be a little different, first person from the POV of Yuffie first, then Vincent. 


	2. Across the Fire Part I

Chapter 2-- Across the Fire

I watch him across the fire.

It feels strange not to be seated next to him. When we arrived at Cosmo Canyon this time, it was mid-afternoon. The central fire was burning brightly-- these trippy, incense burning cave-dwellers keep that thing burning _constantly_-- but our little group did not all immediately gather around it. Cloud went straight off to Buganhagen to talk about the Huge Materia, Tifa skipped off to find somewhere to shower, Red XIII disappeared to who-knows-where, Cait Sith tucked himself neatly into a corner and shut down-- Reeve probably needed to pee, or else just got tired of harassing everyone. I swear he's more obnoxious than everyone thinks I am-- Barrett stormed into the bar, Cid following closely, and Vincent found himself a lovely dark corner in the weapon shop we he could sit and be angsty and clean his gun.

Normally, I would have followed him, perched myself near his silent, brooding form and kept up a steady stream of spirited, nearly one-sided conversation. I was tempted, but I had other, more urgent things to do. I had heard a materia salesmen had been through recently, a real one, and the materia shop had been wise enough to stock up with the new goods. Of course I headed there right away, ready to buy everything they had. Cloud probably wouldn't notice the thousand gil missing until much later. . .

After all that arguing, bargaining, and flirting for the best deal in the materia shop, I decided a shower sounded pretty nice after all. By the time I was done, it was dinner time. I thought about finding Vincent and making him at least enter a place of social interaction, if not actually eat something. Modified body or no, _everyone_ likes to eat, and the chefs at Cosmo Canyon make killer citarat burritos. But it was getting late, and I could see the group outside starting to gravitate towards the central fire like moths. No doubt Cloud would be giving some speech about all he had 'discovered.' They're boring as hell, but I know I should listen to them. So I bought a couple burritos for myself and shimmied down the rickety ladder and headed over to the fire.

The surprised looks I received from everyone as I approached was one of the reasons I didn't cross the raised slab to tuck myself in by Vincent, seated way on the other side in the shadows. I couldn't see his expression, or even really his face; just his eyes, glowing red out of the darkness. They may have widened slightly when I first stepped into the fire's ring of light, but perhaps I was imagining things. Wishful thinking. As if something concerning me would ever surprise Vincent.

Oh, the reason for those looks of surprise, from everyone except for pseudo-vampire Valentine? Why that would be my wardrobe.

You see, while I was showering one of the oh-so-kind occupants of Cosmo Canyon had come by-- Liuna, Lanu, Ginu, I can never remember their names-- and offered to wash my clothes for me. I'd started to protest, but by then she'd already picked up the wrinkled, dirty khaki shorts and crumpled green tank and whisked them off to whatever passes for laundry services here. I doubt if I'll ever see my beloved traveling clothes again.

So what was a girl to wear, then, if her ninja ensemble has been taken away? Well I had half a mind to just throw on some clean underwear and a bra and let that be that, but besides causing half the group to have aneurysms-- I can imagine Cid's expression and language now-- it was kinda cold out. Cold, and sandy. I wasn't sitting in my underwear in the _sand_.

That left my options hopelessly bleak, leading me to wear something I had sworn I would never wear. I cringed as the smooth silk slid across my skin, grumbled at the beautifully delicate flowers spiraling up my torso, studied myself in the mirror looking all small and porcelain, and made a face.

It was a kimono, simple but obscenely expensive. I used to tell Godo that's why Wutai had to resort to being a tourist town; we spent all our gil on goddamn kimonos. This one had been given to me by Chekhov when I was leaving Wutai after the whole materia-stealing thing. It was made of the finest Wutai sunsilk, cut in tastefully flattering layers of soft blues and gentle greens. It brought out my eyes and my skin, making me look older and more mature; a beautiful work of art made for a beautiful princess. I hated it.

I didn't put on the elegantly decorated belt, nor did I lace up the front as was considered 'proper.' I left the whole thing loose and flowing and felt awkward with every movement. I was going to rub my butt in the damn sand, that was for sure.

Still, despite all my efforts the kimono resembled a dress, and that alone was something my companions had never seen nor probably expected to see me wear. I would have much preferred it be one of my _own_ dresses-- short, tight, and bright-- rather than a bit of Chekhov's painted finery, but I tried to hide any uncomfortableness I was feeling behind a loud facade of my normal flippancy.

"Hey!" I said, striding up to the group, cramming one-half of a burrito in my mouth, then speaking around the hot cheesy goodness. "I didn't miss anything, did I?"

"Yuffie," Tifa had said, a hesitant smile beginning to start on her full mouth. "You look. . ."

"Dreadful, I know," I replied with an exaggerated roll of my eyes. Walking all the way over to Vincent would have been too obvious, would have taken too long, so I plunked down where I was. "I didn't have anything else to wear." I held out my other burrito, trying to take the focus off my clothes. From what I could see of Vincent's eyes, he was staring at me. It was making me nervous. "Citarat?" I offered. Tifa shook her head, looking vaguely nauseous.

Cloud began to talk then, and despite my resolve to listen, I found my thoughts, my eyes, straying.

I watch him now across the fire. The flames flicker high, the gas streaming from their tips making the air shimmer and the stars look glossy, as though I'm seeing them from underwater. I feel reasonably confident that Vincent can't see my gaze on him, though I can never really be sure with those freaky eyes of his.

Did I say freaky? Well, they are. They can see things most people can't see, like the materia you've slowly slid from the counter into your armor, or what kind of enemy is that speck on the horizon, or the fear you've hidden deep in your heart. But they're also beautiful; swirling pools of impenetrable crimson that make you shiver when they meet your own insignificant gaze, though you can never decide if the shiver is one of the good kind or the bad kind. . .

All of Vincent is beautiful, actually. Or all of him I've seen at least. I wonder if he knows this. Probably not. I considered going over there and telling him, just to see his reaction (undoubtedly silence, or if I'm lucky a "Why are you telling me this Yuffie?" which is the most common response I ever wring from him) but Cloud is still talking and the moment isn't right. So I content myself with simply gazing at him.

His gold claw gleams in the firelight as he shifts slightly, a strand of glossy black hair drifting over his face. He brushes it back, almost impatiently. The light has moved over his face more, despite his efforts to avoid it, and it throws his high cheekbones and aristocratic nose into sharp relief. He looks delicate and cold and gorgeous, and I wish again that I had arrived earlier and been able to take up my now customary place at his side.

His blood-deep eyes flicker, and I feel more than see that his gaze has shifted to meet mine. I blinked and look away, then summon my courage and look back. A thousand things flicker between us, mirroring the fire that sparks between our interlocking gazes.

This. . . relationship, for want of a better word, that I have with Vincent goes from complicated to incomprehensible to no-brainer and back about fifty times a day. Are we friends? I don't know if you could quite call us that. We're more like two independent loners who spent all our time building walls and pretending to be the things we think we are, who have now just found someone else to be a loner with.

Would I like us to be friends? The answer to that is even more muddled.

When things get really heavy, like with meteor or the Black Materia or whatever, and I start feeling so overwhelmed that I think I might puke, I go to Vincent. I know I can relax the carefree-ninja-that-can-take-on-the-world act around him and tell him a little bit about how I really feel because I know he won't say anything about it. He won't judge me, or throw false assurances around like I'm a five year old. He'll just listen, and every once and awhile offer a bit of common sense that always makes me feel better.

When I need someone to spar with, to pound out emotions like anger or sadness or fear or hopeless, or just plain annoyance, I spar with Vincent. He never asks questions, and he never says no. And though his claw flashes and snaps, his gun cocks, fires, and reloads, he's never hurt me more than a good potion can't fix. He's never transformed into anything either, not during our sparring sessions. Vincent, I've found, has amazing restraint.

Sometimes I find myself wishing I could be more like him, so focused, so in control. I could never do the whole morose, angsty attitude or the don't-talk-to-me-or-I'll-burn-holes-through-your-head-with-my-laser-eyes wardrobe, but I sometimes wish I could have that cool exterior, the unbreakable walls.

Cause my walls aren't unbreakable. I act like this unconquerable girl, this innocent bundle of energy and spunk that's open about everything, when really that openness is my fortifications. And as strong as I want them to be, as strong as I try to make them, there are times when I just can't support them, times when circumstance or fate or just bloody bad luck comes crashing through them and it takes me awhile to get them all rebuilt again. Funnily enough, Vincent seems to be around for every one of those times.

It's one of the reason I find him so fascinating. When we first met, I thought Vincent infuriatingly self-pitying and morose, someone I couldn't imagine spending more than a few moments of ". . ." around him before I went crazy. But after some time, my perception of him changed. I think the big shift occurred outside of Wutai, after I had stolen everyone's materia and that _bastard_ Don Corneo had nearly molested me. . . Vincent was there. He was willingly to actually talk to me before anyone else was. He someone how convinced me to talk to him, and after that I found I couldn't stop.

I began to be able to read the moods in his bouts of silence, understand his self-pity as more of a simple, bare-boned belief of his inhumanity. I began to see humanity in nearly everything he did, and I began to delight in it. Vincent was like a puzzle, one with spiky parts and sharp corners and too many layers, but a puzzle that I was dying to solve. Every time I got a section of it assembled it seemed another section would come along that would have me dismantling the whole thing just to reexamine the parts and see if they couldn't fit together some way else. And they usually did. He was a puzzle with a million different solutions, and I had barely discovered one.

The others-- Cloud, Tifa, Barrett, all of them-- they don't understand what tie there is that binds Vincent and I together. Or at least binds me to him. "Opposites attract, I guess," Tifa has said before, in a bemused sort of way when she see us sitting together or talking together-- well, me talking to Vincent, and him tolerating it, or at least not pulling out his gun and blasting my head off. Maybe that's what our relationship is. Mutual toleration for two people that have a hard time getting tolerated by anyone else.

And maybe that toleration, because it is so a rare a thing for both of us, maybe it has strengthened into something, a not-quite friendship of not-quite equals. But maybe the way we watch each other across the fire has nothing to do with toleration. I know I'm going over his pieces in my head, but maybe we're both watching for the walls to crumble, _waiting_ for it. . .

Cloud has finished speaking. I missed most of what he said, of course, but I got the gist of it. And it's not good. The night has gone quiet and still, everyone absorbed in their own thoughts. I spare a brief moment to wonder about the thoughts of the tall, silent man in black and red that I've been watching so intently, but then I turn away. I'm suddenly filled with restless energy, the need to do something totally unrelated to anything everyone is thinking about, to Huge Materia or Meteor or Sephiroth. Someone had begun plucking out melodies on a guitar a while back, and now they are playing a waltz. Seized by a sudden idea, I leap to my feet.

Ignoring the strange looks I'm getting from my companions, I hold out my kimono and make the traditional Wutai bow, spin, bow move for greeting a familiar dance partner. Then I hold out my arms and begin a series of steps in a slow cadence, the moves coming to me haltingly, then with greater and greater clarity.

The low murmurings of the others fade into the music as I step, twirl, dip and bend. It's slightly awkward without a real partner, but I find I can't stop. I suddenly feel everything that is wrong with the world lurking just beyond our little circle of firelight. I dance near to the edge, then skip back. As long as I'm in the circle, as long as my moving feet don't step into that seething darkness I'll be safe. We all will.

The guitarist has picked up his beat, and I match my steps to it, altering the stately Wutai waltz so that I'm twirling in wide circles, feet crossing and uncrossing, arms making elaborate symbols in the air. I've kicked off my shoes, and my still-damp hair sticks to my face. Thus I don't see the silent figure rise from the edge of the darkness until I've stumbled into him.

My dance interrupted, I lose all grace and begin to flail, irrationally terrified of falling out of the circle of light. But Vincent is there, catching me, holding me, moving me backwards with easy steps, a gentle twirl, a guiding hand.

I suddenly realize we are dancing together, Vincent and I. His body moves in perfect tandem with mine, though I am all vicious energy and he is beautifully fluid grace. His cloak discarded, he wears only a tight fitting black shirt and black pants. The muscles in his arms are lovely and defined; they shift and move as he supports and spins me. His claw, warmed by the fire light, holds my hand with infinite tenderness. He knows the steps almost better than I do. And he keeps me safe, in the circle.

Our hips meet, we spin apart, then they meet again. Vincent's belt presses into my stomach, and I find I can't meet his eyes. His mane of hair drifts around us like a black cloud, tickling my arms. My kimono makes soft swishing noises, and he bends me back, real hand at my waist, holding me close. . . so close. . .

The music stops and we separate, both of us breathing hard though we were dancing slowly. The group watches us, some looking bewildered, but most beginning to smile. Cid breaks into a laugh and a conversation and the others follow. I found I've taken Vincent's hand, and he leads me back to where he was sitting before. We sit next to each other, and for long moments say nothing. His eyes are on me, but I'm staring at our entwining hands. I sit very still, resisting the urge to stroke his long, pale fingers or twist a strand of ebony hair through mine. This is something more than tolerance. I know that, but my mind cannot think about it right now.

"Thank you," I say to Vincent, finding a smile creeping onto my own face at the lightheartedness we have restored to the group.

"You're welcome," he replies. He does not smile, but there is something in his eyes that suggests he would like to, if he could remember how.

The fire flickers, but the circle does not falter. It stays steady and true and I am safe and happy and near the one person that understands why. Scarlet eyes and firelight keep the world's problems at bay, if only for a moment.

------  
Vincent's POV of this same basic thing is up next. I like his better, I think, though this chapter has grown on me a bit.


	3. Across the Fire Part II

Chapter 3-- Across the Fire Part II

I watch her across the fire.

It seems strange to believe that the elegantly dressed young woman seated over there is the same loudly confident young girl that, for the past few weeks, normally sits by me.

Yes, that also seems strange, does it not? I, creature of night and solitude and repentence, and her, child of life and color and emotion, together as. . . friends? I do not know if I would go so far as to call us friends. I do not know if I am allowed friends, nor if I even remember how to be one myself. But we have certainly been companions through many a trial, like the death of the pure and beautiful Aeris, numerous battles against numerous fiends, an ill-fated sojourn through Wutai. . . Every circumstance seems to show me a new side to Yuffie, a new facet in the rough hewn jewel of Wutai. Like tonight, as she wears that kimono.

I can tell by the subtle shifting of her body and the overly casual way she's walking and talking, offering Tifa some of the revolting citarat concoctions that she gulps down like candy, that she is uncomfortable in the fancy outfit. She's not laced up the front, left the belt behind, but all the same she looks like the princess she refuses to be. And it confuses me.

I sit in silence on my side of the fire, in the shadows where I feel out of the way and easily forgotten, just the way I prefer it. Cloud begins to speak, but I am only half listening, my attention still focussed mainly on Yuffie. With my eyes I can see her clearly despite the falling darkness, can pick out the gentle lines of her body under the embroidered silk, the damp curls sticking to the long curve of her neck, the large gray eyes looking through long brown lashes, looking across the fire--

She blinks and looks away, a slight flush coloring her smooth brown cheeks before she takes a breath and looks up again, almost defiantly. There is some sort of challenge in her eyes, and I meet it with my own steady gaze, though I am unsure of what it is.

I was a little surprised and. . . well, surely not dissapointed but perhaps a small bit put out when she did not follow me before, when we first arrived. I expected her to tag along, chattering at me until she got bored with my monosyllabic answers and thus proceeded to drag me off somewhere and try and force feed me local cuisine hardly fit for creatures like Red XIII, much less people. But she did not do that, any of it. I discovered later that she had gone to the materia shop, which I probably should have suspected, though I shudder to think what she was doing in there. I caught a glimpse of her shouting one moment, then smiling and tossing her hair the next. For some reason this made me angry, and I retreated back to the weapon shop. That shows my true consternation; it wasn't the fact that she didn't follow me or drag me around after her, but the fact that I wanted her to.

It's something I've gotten used to, I guess. I have never fit into to the group of young, optimistic heros, and though Yuffie claims to be the star of the lot she has never quite fit in either. On the surface we are as polar opposites, but on the inside we have many things in common.

Do not misunderstand me. I do not claim to compare Yuffie to myself. I would not demean her in such a way as that. I merely mean that we are able to relate to each other, find a common ground of toleration that I have not had for many long years.

Social interaction is one of the basic needs of a human being. When I was in the Nibelheim mansion, alone with my thoughts, no one to talk to but ghosts and memories, I would somtimes feel I was going crazy, and I'd welcome it. I accepted that I was a monster, unfit to associate with anyone, and thus I deprived myself of them like someone with an eating disorder deprives themself of food. It was a punishment that hurt, and I reveled in the pain.

Meeting the whole AVANLANCHE group was a bit jarring after so long on my own, but meeting Yuffie was like a culture shock to my soul. She was everything I was not; young and bright and loud and open. Open about everything, I thought at first. A young girl with no shame, no compunctions. It wasn't until much later that I discovered being open about everything was her way of hiding other things.

She still has no shame, of course. Watching her shimmy down that ladder in a kimono had me flushing slightly and looking decorously away as I caught a glimpse of brightly patterned underwear. But I think it is these differences that have allowed a bond to form between Yuffie and I, whatever sort of confused, immoral bond it is. I worry sometimes of what association with me will do to her, because despite her vulgarity and her past experiances and the deeper side of her I've seen, she is still a girl in her late teens, essentially innocent and untainted, while I am a monster beyond hope of redemption.

Yuffie does not agree. Not only has she told me so the few times I have attempted to discourage her from attaching herself to me, but she has shown it. Everytime she comes to me, feeling overwhelemed and needing to talk, or spar, or just have someone there who will not judge her, she shows me that she thinks me human. In some respect, it saddens me because I know I am adding more sins the longer I let this dependence carry on, and yet it comforts me too. There are times when I'm around Yuffie when I _feel_ human, and I owe her deeply for that. It is a luxury I scarce allow myself, yet when she's around it always seems as though I have little choice.

The first time I transformed in front of her, I admit I was frightened, yet despondantly hopeful too. It was after our visit to Wutai, when I first began to see Yuffie as something other than an annoying child with a materia sweet-tooth and a big mouth, and when she first decided, erroneously in my opinion, that I was someone worth talking to. My transformation, I thought, would destroy any ideas that were forming in her mind about a connection between us. It saddened me slightly to lose that growing trust, however misplaced it may have been, but I was also glad of an opportunity to show her what I truly was, so the distance would grow between us again and I could go back to atoning for my sins.

The Gigas beast burst forth. I decimated the foe that had been swiping at Yuffie with it's claws, then I collapsed to the ground, forcing the painful transformation back into human form. I expected shock, fear, anger, or disgust from Yuffie when I finally arose. What I did not expect was to find her pressing her small hands to my shoulders and neck before I had even opened my eyes.

"Woah!" Yuffie exclaimed as soon as she confirmed I was alive. "Where did _that_ come from? Does it have to do with that claw thing you have instead of a hand? Is it _because_ of the claw? Is it like, magic or something? Could I get one?" She helped me to a sitting position, undoubtedly just so I could hear her better. "Did it hurt?" she continued, eyes raking over me, lingering a little awkwardly on my arms and chest. She put one hand to my heart, frowing as she felt the rapid beat. "Cause you made a noise like a wounded zollum. Did you hear yourself? Or is it like the creature is someone else entirely, like you're just along for the ride? You _slaughtered_ that spiky guy, you know. Good thing too, because it was starting to be a major pain in the ass. Literally. Did you see the scratch it gave me? Nearly took my leg off. . ."

She all but pulled me to my feet, keeping up her rapid stream of questions. I answered what I could through my haze of bewilderment. Never before had I faced such a reaction to my mutation. I asked her later, in what words I could, if she had not been afraid at all.

"Why would I be afraid?" she asked, cocking her head like a little bird and frowning slightly. "It was just you. With claws and fangs and fur and all, but still, it was just you."

And that I think encompasses our whole strange, unholy relationship. Besides Yuffie making me feel as I haven't since Lucrecia was alive, or me being privy to things she shows and tells no one else, there is simply no fear or judgement or expectations between us, and that for both of us is a rare thing.

Cloud has finished speaking . I missed some of his finer points, absorbed as I was in my thoughts, but I am able to fill in the blanks quite easily. The outcome is not good. A dark pall settles over the group, and I turn my gaze once more to Yuffie. She shifts restlessly, glancing around. I feel an urge to go over to her, to sit down and have her tell me what's wrong. I'm about to push myself to my feet, thoughts and opinions of the others be damned, but Yuffie beats me to it.

At first I think she is coming over to me and I battle with both resentment that she has waited and denial that I hold any such resentment. But then then she stops, catches hold of the delicate folds of her shimmery kimono, bows, spins, then bows again. . .

I recognize the Wutaian waltz even as Yuffie falters slightly over the steps and improvises to fit the guitar melody drifting in from the shadows. Memories come to me of my Turk days, learning similar dances, the Wutain ones still fresh enough then for me to skip out early, to meet Lucrecia who would laugh as I spun her about the room-- but then they are overshadowed by the look on Yuffie's face as she twirls, oblivious, about the fire.

She looks at once young and scared, like a child running about a burning house screaming because they can think of nothing else to be done, yet also mature and accepting, the old woman who sits in the flames and waits for death because she _knows_ nothing can be done. There is a fire of sorts in Yuffie's face, an emotion that burns without heat but that burns me nonetheless. The music has picked up and she's changed her rhythm to match, kimono whirling as she flits about the circle of firelight like a trapped bird.

I find myself rising to my feet as Yuffie dances her way towards me. Her eyes are open, wide and liquid, but it is clear she seeming something other than a slightly cloudy night around a fire in Cosmo Canyon, something other than myself as I step forward, wanting against all sense to catch hold of the little bird and set it free.

Yuffie stumbles, surprised, a breif flash of pure, unadultered fear crossing her face as she leans into the shadows. Her slender body falls easily into my arms and I move forward out of the darkness where I belong to support the small ninja that seems made of light.

But it isn't just any kind of light, I realize as I twirl and dip her, desperate to erase all traces of that fear; it is sunlight, beautiful and dangerous. It is moonlight, intoxicating but out of reach. It is firelight, inconstant but burning. It is starlight, ethereal and cold. It is Yuffie, utterly and completely.

I have been holding her very close. The silk of her kimono is as water under my hand, flowing over the smoothness of her back and hips. Our bodies meet, then seperate, then meet again. Yuffie's eyes flicker down to where we're pressed together. The fear and the burning have left her for now, replaced by something softer and sweeter. Candlelight, perhaps, gentle and illuminating. I find myself drawing her closer. . . closer. . .

The music stops and we seperate. Yuffie's breathing is uneven, and though Hojo put his some of unhallowed touches on my lungs, my breath comes not perfectly either. I can feel the eyes of the rest of the group on us, and though they seem surprised, the laughter that breaks out is not mocking, but rather entertained. Yuffie slips her small hand into mine and I lead her back to where I was sitting before, pulling her down next to me where she belongs.

I feel strange, like I'm trembling though I sit perfectly still. Yuffie also settles quickly, which is quite unusual for her. While the rest of the group has broken into conversation, we say nothing to each other for long moments. Yuffie breaks the silence.

"Thank you," she says, and even without looking at her I can tell she is starting smile. I look at her anyway.

"You're welcome," I reply, finding an answering lightness growing in me, though it does not quite extend to my lips. Her happiness matters far more than my own, and she is happy now. Whatever was troubling her has been suppressed. Perhaps she will tell me about it later. At the moment it no longer matters. Yuffie is content to sit by my side, our hands still entwined, and watch the fire. I am content-- though I do not deserve contentment, at the moment I do not even try to fight it-- to sit by her side, our hands still entwined, and watch her.

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One more chapter, I think. Review, pretty please.


	4. Forever

Last one everyone. Sorry about the delay, and many thanks for all the reviews and readers!

Chapter 4-- "Forever"

She falls to the ground, the air leaving her body in a rush. He hits a second later, though he almost manages to remain upright, stumbling only slightly and ending up leaning against the rocky wall.

"Yuffie?" he asks after taking a deep breath. He remains propped against the wall, but his voice is as smoothly velvet as ever. "Yuffie, are you alright?"

Her only answer is a snort that turns into a cough. Blood splatters on the rocks.

"Here." He reaches into a cloak, then holds out a potion. "Drink this."

She groans and rolls onto her side, facing away from him. "Don't wanna," she says after another cough. "Gonna die."

"You are _not_ going to die, Yuffie." Vincent reaches down and grabs her elbow, drawing her gently up to lean against the wall next to him. His face is smooth and placid, but it is obvious by his labored movements that he too is suffering. "Drink the potion."

"You drink it." Yuffie tilts her head back, looking up at the sheer rocky drop-off over which they had fallen when the shaking had began. There is blood on her neck and face, her hair matted to her head. "We're gonna die."

"Stop saying that." Vincent reaches into his cloak, exchanging the potion for an elixir. His last one. All the fiends in Northern Crater are difficult but that. . . _monstrosity_ that Cloud commissioned them to deal with while he went after Sephiroth had been one of the hardest they'd faced yet. The fall hadn't helped. He shows the elixir to Yuffie. "I drink half, you drink the other half."

"Fine." She coughs again, wiping away blood. "Might as well be able to see clearly while I die so I can appreciate all the unfair horribleness--" 

She breaks off as Vincent presses the elixir bottle into her hand, then pushes it to her mouth. The sparkling liquid trickles down her throat and she coughs a final time, though there is no more blood. Vincent reaches forward and wipes the remainder of it from her lips.

"We're not going to die, Yuffie," he says quietly.

"Easy for you to say, you immortal bastard," she snorts. Sinking to her knees, Yuffie reaches forward into the water flowing past the small outcropping of rock they were fortunate enough to land on, beginning to lave it on her neck and head. "In case you haven't noticed, we're in Northern Crater a.k.a. the Ultimate Breeding Ground of Deadly Fiends that Want to Eat our Heads, we're separated from the rest of the group with little chance of getting back, and for all we know Sephiroth may be joining us at any moment." She sat back on her heels, staring at drops of liquid falling from her hair. "And this isn't water."

In an instant, Vincent is crouching next to her, alarmed. He sticks his claw in the bubbling liquid, feeling the warm tingle that signifies it as Lifestream material. He looks over at Yuffie to find her now sitting with her legs straight in front of her, her back against the rocky wall. Her mouth curves in a wry smile, and she begins to laugh in a way that is not far from tears.

"This is just great," she says through her laughter. "I'm going to drown. In the Lifestream no less. Forget getting killed by some cool-ass fiend. Forget dying in a ninja sword battle. Forget a dramatic suicide. I get to drown, in Northern Crater. Alone." She looks at Vincent, and her laughter dies away. There is moisture building in her eyes. "Well, not alone."

"Yuffie." Vincent moves to his knees, crimson eyes staring into her gray ones. "This barrier that prevents us using our materia, or me from transforming-- it's probably because of the proximity of the Lifestream. There is a possibility it may lift soon, and then I will be able to get us out of--"

There is a loud rumble, and the entire crater seems to shake. Yuffie is thrown sideways but Vincent moves fast enough to catch her before she hits the rocks. There is a faint sound that may have been a far-off shout, and then comes the sound of engines. A few rocks come crashing down from above, splashing into the Lifestream and throwing the green liquid up onto the small rock where Yuffie and Vincent huddle into each other until the shaking stops.

"It's not going to wear off," Yuffie says with a sigh when all is quiet again. She climbs to her feet, and Vincent follows suit. "The Lifestream is just going to keep rising and I'll start drowning and you'll just get to stand there with your immortal ass and watch me go. And everyone else will be having a party on the Highwind. They'll probably get Barret drunk, and Tifa and Cloud might _finally_ make-out and Red will probably cook for everyone and Cid'll start doing tricks that'll probably make me puke even down here and. . ."

She breaks off, looking at Vincent with eyes that are fighting tears, though a smile is back on her face. He returns her gaze, his expression inscrutable.

"You know Yuffie, being immortal simply means I do not age or grow ill." His voice is soft and buttery as always, though his red eyes flicker. "I am still able to die."

"Oh. Well." Yuffie blinks, but her smile widens into something that is almost genuine. "Then this sucks for you too."

"Yes," Vincent replies with a sigh. "It sucks for me too."

They are silent for a while, leaning against the cliff-face, standing very close but not touching. A few more rumbles shake the cavern, and a few more rocks tumble down into the rising stream. The rock they are standing on has shrunk by nearly a foot as the liquid churns and flows around it.

Vincent's lips begin to move, mouthing silent words. Yuffie looks up at him to find his eyes shut, long dark lashes lying on pale cheeks. His beauty is clear and cold like glass, and she starts to reach up a hand to touch his hair, purest black except where the feeble light touches it, making it shine. If the night sky was to be melted into liquid, Yuffie thinks it would look something like Vincent's hair. She's nearly touched his shoulder when he murmurs a name that makes her stop cold.

"What did you say?" she asks in a low whisper.

"Lucrecia," he repeats, though it's unclear if it's in answer to Yuffie's question or simply a continuation of his soft prayer. "I ask forgiveness a final time."

With a move so sudden it knocks Vincent off-balance, Yuffie shoves herself away from him with a hard push. "Well tell her you'll be there soon!" she shrills, voice echoing in the cavernous space. "The two of you can have a grand old time, and I'll just float off in the Lifestream on my own!"

The tears come at last now, though she turns away in an attempt to hide them from him. The Lifestream laps at her feet.

Vincent looks at her hunched shoulders, bewildered. "Yuffie," he tries softly. "I only meant--"

"I know what you meant!" She rounds on him, hands clenched at her sides like a small child about to throw a temper tantrum. "Even when we're standing here about to _die_ all you can think about is the past!"

He begins to see where this is going, and he takes a step forward. His boots splash in the bubbling liquid. "Yuffie--"

"Well I have news for you, Vincent!" She is angry and irrational and hurt and very, very scared. "The past is over! It's gone! It's dead, just like Lucre--"

He grabs her now, pulls her hard to him and leans down so their faces are inches apart. His red eyes blaze, and even in her fury Yuffie can not help but recoil slightly. "Don't," he growls low. "Don't go there, Yuffie."

"Why not?" Her voice is very quiet. She still cowers in his hold, but she is determined to speak. It is the only thing keeping her from a breakdown of an entirely different kind. The tears, evaporated in her anger, begin again to flow. "Because you still love her? Because she's all you've ever cared about?"

Vincent releases her, taking a measured step back. The Lifestream swirls around his ankles. He breathes in, studying her face. Though he is only trying to decide how much of her words are spawned by truth, and how much are the results of the increasingly dire situation-- and formulate an appropriate response based on his conclusions-- Yuffie takes offense at his silence. She turns her back to him again, crossing her arms over her chest, making small splashes with one foot like an angry child.

"Gawd, I am so stupid," she says, voice low like she is speaking only to herself, though he is clearly meant to hear. "All this time I've been thinking there might be something to you. . . That I might have found something most other people miss. Now I can see I was just kidding myself. A little girl's stupid delusion."

He can tell the words are said partially to draw a rise out of him, to provoke something that will distract them both from what's really wrong, yet he still takes the bait. Within a step he's behind her, putting a hand on her shoulder. She shakes it off, turns to face him, and bares her teeth. In that instant she looks wild and feral and stunningly beautiful.

"I convinced myself you were human, Vincent." The words spit and sting, like venom from fangs sung deep into his heart. His reply comes soft, low. Dangerous.

"You told me you didn't think of me as a monster."

"I don't." For a second it seems everything will be right. His good hand moves forward, as though to take hers. His face softens, his eyes melted rubies. Then she drives home the final barb. "I don't think of you as anything."

A wickedly flashing golden claw streaks out instead of a gloved hand, gripping Yuffie's arm just above the elbow as though Vincent is seriously considering snapping the limb in half. He shoves her back, but closes the gap between them with a hard step that throws warm liquid up onto both their shins.

"All this time," Yuffie breathes, body writhing in his grasp but eyes steady on his face. "All this time, I've been talking to you. . . I've followed you around and I've thought. . . I convinced myself. . ." The large, stormy gray eyes narrow. "But now I can see how stupid I was." She's crying again, trying feebly to pull away. "Because you're nothing. You're nothing inside. You feel nothing. And you're nothing to me."

She turns her head aside. The tears flow like the Lifstream pooling around their calves. "I hate you," she whispers.

Vincent slams her hard against against the rock wall behind them, his body falling upon hers like a rock onto ground made soft after a storm. The breath leaves her body in a gasp, but he gives her no chance to reclaim it, smashing his lips against hers in a hard, brutal kiss.

Yuffie does not resist the ferocious display of feeling, but rather adds to it, squeezing her eyes shut tight as the tears burn away in the heat they are creating, arms going around his neck to fist in his hair, lips pressing hard then opening harshly, tongue stabbing forward with all the lethal confidence of her conformer.

Vincent responds. His hands clamp firmly on her slim hips, pressing her against the wall yet clutching her to him at the same time, rendering her nearly immobile with both actions except for when her body squirms and arcs of it's own accord. He stands quite still, nearly rigid, as though to move in anyway might cause his entire self to crumble. His lips are ice to her fire, precision and care to her speed and desperation. His tongue is as a serpent, agonizingly slow but certainly deadly, weaving circles of tighter and tighter tantalization.

They break apart after long moments of the carnal exchange. Yet it is only their lips that separate; their bodies remain modeled together, though Yuffie halfheartedly struggles, just once, more on principal than anything. Vincent's gaze is enough to pin her where she is-- his eyes blaze with a ruby fire that she feels all the way down in her innermost self, but she can't tell if the feeling it ignites is one of fear or something else. Her eyes alone are enough to keep Vincent pressed against her, surging gray oceans with undercurrents of hidden emotion.

"Don't tell me I don't feel anything, Yuffie," he whispers, his voice for the first time ever in her hearing trembling. His gaze is like a burning scarlet laser, stripping her down bare to expose the turmoil inside that beats in time with her heart, just for him. "Don't tell me I don't feel, because I. . . I don't deserve--"

Yuffie's body surges against him and their lips meet again. Though he pushes her away, the words aching for attention even more than his desire, he cannot help but indulge slightly, and again allows only their faces to be apart. Neither of them notice the Lifestream flowing in the few spaces between their entwined forms.

"When you came into my life, Yuffie, I didn't know what to do with you." His breath mists on her lips, warm and real and human. "You talked to me when I received nothing but silent judgment for years. You touched me when everyone else recoiled in fear. You made me feel when I thought everything inside had long since died and withered away."

Her arms around wound tightly around him, their bodies tucked neatly together like puzzle pieces, shaped by cosmic hands to fit with perfection. He leans himself into her, the wall supporting their weight. His head goes dips down, his face against her hair.

"I should have hated you, Yuffie," he murmurs, eyes shut. He holds her like he plans never to let go. She hopes he won't. "You were everything I was not and I wanted to hate it all. . . but I ended up just hating the fact that I could not hate anything about you. Not anything."

Yuffie squirms even closer to Vincent, turning their embrace from clinging and desperate to something warm, soft, and intimate. Yet, being Yuffie, she cannot resist a giggle. The terror of the situation has passed, dissolved by their complete focus on each other. As far as Yuffie and Vincent are concerned at that moment they might as well be standing in a sunlight field, rather than a dark cavern with the Lifestream lapping at their knees.

"You don't hate _anything_ about me?" Yuffie asks, happily tearing apart the seriousness of the moment to interject some of her irrepressible levity. "Not even when I make you come fiend hunting with me for hours just so I can master a Lightning?"

Vincent trails his hand down her back. "No."

"How about how I like to put braids in your hair when you fall asleep then not tell you and you get weird looks from everyone until you realize and take them out?"

His claw slides over her hip, makes circles on her side. "No."

"Not even how I puke every time I set foot on Cid's bucket of an airship?"

He kisses her temple. "Not even that."

"What about when I walk around in just my bra and shorts after I take a shower because it makes Cloud start looking at me, and Tifa start looking at him and neither of them are looking at their materia and--"

"Yuffie." He pulls back slightly, fixing her with a stern glare. "You don't."

"Only rarely. I mean, how often do we get showers?" She shrugs and starts to snuggle closer, but Vincent holds back, still glaring. It draws a grin from Yuffie, and she stands on tiptoe to place another kiss on his lips. He deepens it, holding her tightly. Possessively. She laughs against his mouth. He swallows her laughter with another kiss. Unlike before, it's long and slow and gentle and sad. They kiss like they have all the time in the world, because they know they don't. Yuffie presses herself against Vincent like she's hoping to be absorbed into his skin. He's more than willing to let her try. For awhile there's silence as they simply hold each other. Vincent shifts them so they are leaning against the wall, braced against the rising Lifestream.

"Vincent?" Yuffie questions into the heavy silence.

"Yes, Yuffie."

"I. . . I don't hate you." It is half an apology, half a confession of something else.

The Lifestream licks at their thighs. She has begun to shiver and he tugs her closer, wrapping his cloak around them both. "I know."

"Not even when you sit by yourself and act all angsty and pretend to ignore me."

"I know."

"Or when you refuse to try any of my food, even the stuff that is really good and kind of normal."

"I know."

"Or when you won't let me drink ëcause I'm underage even though I always have sake at home, like that time we went back to Kalm and that lady had the champagne and we decide to celebrate not being dead yet and Barret started singing that one song and with those lyrics that made Aeris and Tifa get all red, and I started to join in but you--"

Vincent kisses her again, a brief brush of lips that nonetheless make her sigh.

"You did that just to shut me up, didn't you?" Yuffie pretends to be disgruntled, but she doesn't pretend very hard.

"Yes, Yuffie."

They lapse again into silence. There is so much to say in these last moments, yet they do not say anything The silence is almost louder and more meaningful than words would have been. Here, at the end, they finally truly understand each other. The cavern around them rumbles, the Lifestream splashes against their legs. Vincent scoops Yuffie up into his arms, holding her above the liquid as long as possible. The rumbling grows louder. A few rocks shake down around them.

"Vincent," Yuffie says after a moment, lifting her head from where she buried it in his neck. "Do you hear that?"

"Yes." Vincent shifts her slightly so he can reach his Death Penalty easily if the need arrives. She can read the alarm in the tensing of his muscles, the coiled strength in his stance. But there is hope too, burgeoning in both of them. Yuffie looks up, squinting through the dust created by the shaking around them. A rope tumbles down in front of her.

"It can't be. . ." she breathes.

"Grab the hell on, motherfuckers!" The gravely voice comes from above, a snarling, worried-lace voice from heaven. "We want to get the fuck out of this motherfuckin' cave!"

"It is." Vincent seizes the rope with his claw, holding tightly to Yuffie with the other arm.

"We're saved!" Vincent flinches only slightly at the scream Yuffie lets out near his ear. "Vinnie, we're saved! I'm not going to drown in the Lifestream! They won't find our corpses washed up near Midgar, half eaten by fish! I'll can get my ninja battle or brutal suicide after all!"

"Hold on, Yuffie." The shaking gets worse and they can barely see for the dust, but they are moving upwards. Yuffie squeals and squirms in Vincent's arms, laughing and half-shrieking at the same time. He remains quiet and stoic until they're near the top of the ridge and Yuffie leans in to plant a kiss on his lips.

"Tell Lucrecia she'll have to wait," she breathes, moist and warm, into his ear. "You're all mine for now."

"Forever," Vincent whispers into her hair. He is unsure if he wants to hear him, and he is unsure if she does. She holds him tightly, and they are pulled from the lapping, seductive dark of the Lifestream to the hard, worn deck of the Highwind, and the warm love of their friends.

There are hugs and shouts and laughter. After a terse statement that holds more love than he'd ever intentionally let on, Cid returns to the controls of the Highwind and pilots the ships away from death, from despair, from Northern Crater.

Yuffie and Vincent stand together on the deck, watching the crater fall away beneath them. Yuffie grips the rail with one hand-- bracing for the almost inevitable nausea-- but her other hand rests in Vincent's, and his other arm circles her slim waist. The group notes this. Smiles and looks of incredulity of exchanged, but Yuffie and Vincent remain happily oblivious, surrounded by their friends love, yet set apart, yet together. Holding each other's hands, and holding each other's hearts, they lean in for a kiss as the sun begins to rise.

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---Sorry about any inaccuracies or things that don't make sense in this last chapter. Creative liberties? Hopefully you'll be able to overlook them and enjoy it. And review it?


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